“I’m glad no such tragedy has occurred,” James said, his eyes sparkling with humor. “As luck would have it, some boys from the village and I have just finished cleaning the kitchen. In preparation for your arrival, Mrs. Honeycutt.”
“I must see it at once.” Without waiting for permission, Mrs. Honeycutt swept past them, water dripping from the hem of her dress.
“Shall we all go?” James asked. “It’s nearly time for supper. We can eat downstairs, if that suits you ladies?”
“Absolutely fine,” Georgiana said, stifling a laugh.
What an evening this had turned into.
Chapter Five
James
James leaned againstthe doorframe, watching as Mrs. Honeycutt circled the kitchen like a queen bee in her hive. She’d rolled up her sleeves, revealing freckled forearms corded with muscle he knew so well. He’d inherited Mrs. Honeycutt when he bought the tavern and he’d often thought she was the most valuable of any of his other staff put together. She might be bawdy, foul-mouthed and opinionated but she was also smart, loyal and hilarious.
“This is a fine kitchen indeed.” Mrs. Honeycutt ran her hand along the freshly scrubbed workbench. “If only my mother could see me now, in such a place as this. She’d be proud.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” James said. “I’ve missed you.”
Mrs. Honeycutt snorted. “’Course you have. There’s only one Tilda Honeycutt in the world.” She set the pot down with a clang that echoed through the cavernous space. “Right then. Let’s see what you’ve managed for provisions.”
Without waiting for direction, she marched to the pantry, throwing open the door as if expecting an ambush. “Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “A half-wheel of cheese, a loaf of bread and some butter? What exactly were you planning to eat tonight, my lord? The furniture?”
“The storm upended our idea to eat at the pub in the village,” James said. “The ladies are staying at the inn and planned to return butI didn’t want to send them out in this weather. I’ve been eating supper with them at the inn most nights.”
“I see.” Mrs. Honeycutt crossed her arms. “Speaking of which, where will any of us sleep?”
“I hired some boys from the village to clean several of the staff rooms,” James said. “Our housekeeper is to arrive tomorrow as well.”
He didn’t mention that he’d assumed Cecily and Georgiana would take those rooms tonight. Now, he was short a room.
“This housekeeper—who is she and will I like her?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked.
James chuckled. “She’s the housekeeper who worked for us when I was a boy. She’s perhaps the sweetest lady in England. You’ll like her.”
“We’ll see about that. I won’t have anyone telling me what to do in my own kitchen.”
“I doubt she’ll be heavy-handed,” James said. “But she’ll be invaluable when it comes to teaching us both about proper etiquette when it comes to entertaining and staff. My sister-in-law has promised to advise us as well. She’s a proper lady. And I’m not exactly a proper lord.”
“There’s no finer man than you, James Ashford, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Mrs. Fairfax caught his eye across the room, her lips pressed together in what might have been an attempt to suppress a smile. Cecily made no such effort, grinning openly as she perched on a stool by the hearth.
“I had planned to visit the village tomorrow,” James said, straightening. “To arrange deliveries.”
“This won’t be the first time I’ve fed a household from a nearly bare kitchen,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “My mother, God rest her soul, fed a family of six on mostly nothing at all.”
“Thank you,” James said. “I can’t speak for the ladies, but my stomach’s rumbling.”
“Good thing I’ve arrived early then.” Mrs. Honeycutt went back into the pantry and emerged with the bread and cheese in hand. “Let’s get a fire started. And I’ll need a skillet.” She disappeared into the scullery, emerging moments later with a cast-iron pan.
James offered to make the fire in the stove. He knew at some point he would have to start acting like a gentleman but for now he could still be himself. A man who knew how to build his own fire.
Georgiana and Cecily sat at the table, watching Mrs. Honeycutt with amused expressions.
Soon enough, James had a fire going and had poured them all glasses of ale. He knew Mrs. Honeycutt enjoyed an ale most nights after she’d finished feeding his patrons at the tavern.
Mrs. Honeycutt set about slicing the bread with efficient strokes of a knife she’d produced from seemingly nowhere. “Mrs. Fairfax, how does a woman come to be an architect? I always thought that was men’s work, all that measuring and mathematics.”
